


Jelly Roll

by SapphoIsBurning



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alcohol, Come Marking, Established Relationship, Greasers, Hair Kink, Haircuts, M/M, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, kind of, of course there's a rockabilly gay sex bar somewhere between indianapolis and cincinatti
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-18 03:28:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8147609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphoIsBurning/pseuds/SapphoIsBurning
Summary: Letting Corey cut his hair puts Tom in a whole new frame of mind. It also gives Corey a few more ideas of what to do with their evening.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Set before, during, and after Clash of Champions. Inspired by Tom's actual hair and Corey's actual comments about it.

“I need a haircut,” Tom said, frowning into the mirror. He turned his head to the left and right, looking at the hair that was covering the tops of his ears and messy around his neck.

“I could do it,” said Corey. He leaned against the cool, tiled wall of the bathroom and met Tom’s gaze reflected in the mirror.

Tom rolled his eyes. “Sure. You get a beautician license along with your piercer card back in Pittsburgh?” He brushed his hair back from his forehead and took a minute to frown at his hairline too.

“Pssh. I can do a high and tight, Phillips. One on the sides, two on the top.” He put his hands in his pockets and smiled, a provocation.

“Why should I trust you?” Tom asked.

“I mean, they let me style *my* hair. What’s the worst I can do to yours?” Corey widened his eyes innocently.

Tom turned around and hopped up on the counter, his back to the mirror, sitting with his legs dangling between the two sinks of the vanity. “So what do you do to yours?”

“Number one on the sides, leave the top long. A little pomade for the jelly roll.” He shrugged.

“You think that would look good on me?” Tom asked.

“What, a jelly roll?”

“No. Maybe? Just doing it with the shaved sides. Maybe a pompadour like you have.” He reached out his hands and Corey stepped forward, resting his hands on Tom’s waist.

“I’m going to have to disavow any knowledge of it,” Corey said, smiling out of one side of his mouth. “Kayfabe.”

“You’re going to make fun of my hair no matter what I do,” Tom said. He looked down bashfully. “I just want to look cool.”

Corey looked at Tom with fondness and scheming in his eyes. “You’re going to look so cool.”

***

Tom leaned against a stack of folding chairs backstage, watching a monitor. “That was more of a disaster than Tom Phillips’ attempt at my haircut!” Corey scolded. Tom rolled his eyes. He knew it was going to happen. He accepted it. And he still let Corey run the clippers over his head; begged, actually. Turns out getting your head shaved by your lover instead of your barber is pretty fucking intimate.

Corey had retrieved the clippers in their zippered bag, and Tom thought of the sound they made; he ran his hand over the side of his head. Like mussing a piece of velvet. It felt good. It felt even better when Corey did it.

The match went on and he snapped out of his reverie as a production assistant brought him a clipboard and directed him to his mark for a post-match interview he had to tape. He tried not to feel self-conscious about how he looked. This is what he wanted. This is what he wanted.

***

They met up after Corey was done getting the rundown from the producers and Tom didn’t have any more interviews to tape for WWE.com. Corey was actually waiting for Tom and held out his right elbow for him. Tom rolled his eyes and put his arm through it. They walked out to the rental car. They always shared now; they needed the alone time together that long car rides afforded.

“Where to?” Tom asked.

“Wanna show you off,” Corey said. He hit the clicker to unlock the SUV. “Get in the back. Got something for you.” His voice sounded husky.

Tom scrunched up his face in confusion but after throwing his bags in the back, he opened the back door and got in. He looked in a bag on the seat: a change of clothes. White tee shirt, jeans. “Are these yours?”

“I got them for you. You said you wanted to look cool, right?” Corey said. “Put them on.”

“In here?”

“The windows are tinted. The garage is dark.”

Corey shut the door and got into the front to start the car. Tom was glad he could reach his garment bag in the back to stash his suit somewhere. He flailed as Corey drove.

He pulled the white shirt over his head. It clung to his chest. The jeans fit, but were very tight. He threaded his own belt through the loops.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Place I know,” Corey said. “It’s on the way. Go hear some bands. See and be seen. You looked great tonight,” he rasped.

Tom smiled narrowly. “I always do.”

***

They got out of the car.

“Wait,” Corey said. He flicked something out of his pocket. A narrow comb popped out of a switchblade handle. He advanced on Tom, who tried hard not to flinch.

Corey combed his hair back from his face and then tucked the point of it around to form a little bit of a curl. “There,” he said. “Perfect.”

***

Tom didn’t recognize the band that was playing when they were waved past the line by a bouncer that greeted Corey by name. Some kind of combination of punk and country, a woman in a gingham dress and fishnets shredding on guitar, people dancing, tattooed men with rolled-up sleeves pressed up against a concrete wall to be kissed by other men with rolled up sleeves, Corey’s hand firmly on his ass.

“Let’s dance,” Corey said.

And seen they were.

***

They were drunk, but not *that* drunk. Corey guided Tom by the small of his back into the bathroom, ignoring all the other people hanging out there to slam open the door to a stall and lock it behind them. Corey dropped to a crouch and palmed Tom’s fly.

“Whoa,” Tom said. “Why now, why this?”

“You look good enough to eat,” Corey said. “Can I?”

“Fuck yeah,” Tom said shakily.

Corey undid Tom’s belt buckle, unbuttoned his jeans, and dragged the zipper down slowly. With two hands he pulled the elastic band of Tom’s white briefs down, freeing his cock and balls. With one fist, he worked Tom to hardness. He sucked the tip into his mouth, stroking with his hand, and Tom flailed for purchase against the wall of the stall behind him. It rattled loudly and people outside cheered.

Corey looked up, smirking, to see Tom, blushing. “It’s okay, baby, I got you,” Corey said before getting back to work. He got his own pants open and switched hands, working Tom’s cock with his left and his own with his right.

He bobbed his head, sucking fast and hard, and and and Tom thought about being done up and paraded around and he couldn’t last, spilling into Corey’s mouth, clutching his shoulder. Corey swallowed him down and pulled off, lips slick and swollen, and he smiled, cocking an eyebrow. “Wanna see me paint the wall?” he asked. Tom nodded, eyes glazed, and Corey got to his feet. He jerked himself roughly, aiming toward the cinder block wall with a tiny dirty window cut out of the very top. Tom tucked himself back in and watched with fascination.

With a grimace but no groan, Corey shot his load against the wall, come dripping down in strands. Tom felt his dick twitch. His hands were shaking. He pulled Corey in for a kiss, feeling fierce, tasting himself on Corey’s lips. He gripped the back of Corey’s neck and pressed their bodies together.

Someone banged on the stall door.

“Fuck off!” Corey broke the kiss to yell, and then they kissed some more. They left eventually; there were more bands playing and you couldn’t hog the big stall the *whole* night.

***

The show was over, the bar was closing, they staggered out. Corey draped his leather jacket over Tom’s shoulders.

“Follow me.” Corey slung his arm around Tom’s waist and led him to the corner. They crossed the street and Tom went along in perfect trust as they walked down a few blocks. He focused on the press of Corey’s skin against the strip of flesh bared by his tee shirt coming untucked.

“Here,” Corey said. There was a diner open, neon lights advertising ice cream sundaes in the window. “I need something to eat. They’re open all night.” He pulled the door open and Tom walked through, still feeling like he had fallen down a time hole. But it was a pretty good date, he had to admit. Without thinking he reached up and touched the side of his head, tucking back hair that wasn’t there anymore.

Corey got a patty melt and Tom got a milkshake, a big one. Chocolate. The waitress brought it out with honest-to-god two straws.

“What *is* this?” Tom asked, laughing after she had walked away. He pulled the cherry off the swirl of whipped cream at the top and popped it into his mouth.

“Can’t look cool all the time,” Corey said softly, leaning in to drink out of the straw. Tom leaned in too and their foreheads bumped.

Corey laced his tattooed fingers together with Tom’s. Tom looked down, then all around them. Couples leaned into each other in checkered booths. Two redheaded women shared fries. Someone with a beard stroked the chin of someone else with a beard. Tom’s hand shot up again to touch his hair, feeling the pomade Corey had put in it, and looked at Corey’s. They, too, were a set.

They killed an hour eating and bullshitting and admiring each other. The waitress set the check in front of Corey and he paid it with crisp cash from a soft, creased billfold. It was nearly five before they finally fell into a bed, out of words, out of deeds other than to enter a brief dreamless sleep in yet another town. But it was nice to have company.


End file.
